


Fiore

by paperfeathers



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Also flowers and lace and makeup, Insecurity, M/M, Praise Kink, Sexual Tension, body image issues, oh my
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 05:32:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8132263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperfeathers/pseuds/paperfeathers
Summary: Hux is forced to wear a planet's more than revealing formalwear. Ren's a little overwhelmed.





	

 

—-

There's a banquet to be served that night in honor of the First Order's new trade agreement with Apocyn, and the planet's Matriarch had all but commanded Hux to come dressed in their traditional regalia. Mainly by sending up a set along with a bevy of her attendants, who had promptly wasted no time herding Hux into the dressing chamber despite his (still polite) protests. Nothing has been sent up for Ren, which suits him just fine - as dreamy and slightly vague a species the Apocynians are, they know how to avoid trouble well enough. Really, he'd much prefer to be anywhere but here attempting to find a spot on the floor that isn't covered in flower petals and lengths of the spidersilk lace Apocyn is renknowned for, but before the gaggle of dappled limbs and leafy hair had completely enclosed him, Hux had pinned Ren in place with a glare,  _where do you think you're going, make your powers useful and help me here._

So now it's been two hours, and Ren is _bored._ The Apocynians' minds a near-incomprehensible flurry of activity and  _no this color doesn't suit, yes that flower, yes his hair is so lovely while loose, we must keep him from covering it in that awful gel -_ He can’t even see Hux, and he would worry if he couldn’t hear the general's feedback, peeved beyond hell and longing for the day he can raze this densely forested planet to ashes. 

 _That’ll be a waste of resources._ Ren muses, and is (childishly) gratified to hear the mental equivalent of a snarl. 

 _Ren, instead of lounging around like the overgrown lout you are, make sure they’re not making a mockery of me._ Hux hisses. Ren bristles, but then he has to stop himself from dissolving into laughter when Hux lets out a completely undignified yelp. The Apocynians coo mortified apologies in their sibilant, breeze-like language, and Ren can feel Hux calming in spite of himself. 

 _You know that’s a special ability they have, right? To lull you into a sense of security._ Hux’s reply is curt and terse. 

 _I’m well aware, Ren. I’ve only endured a dozen rounds of trade negotiations with their Matriarch. But really, what did I expect you to know about diplomacy._ Ren cuts his cheek on his teeth, the sudden memory of a dark-haired woman facing a mirror, binding her hair in braids catching him by the throat. But before he can spit out the retort curdling in his mouth, the Apocynians are stepping away. Standing in a circle around Hux, their heads respectfully inclined, and Ren’s never more grateful for the mask when his jaw falls open in surprise. 

Ren had expected nothing less from the damned sycophant other than full compliance with whoever was holding the strings, but nothing could have prepared him for the sight of Hux’s bare skin. So pale he’s almost glowing under the strange blue-tinged sunlight of this planet. He’s bare-chested, bare-armed, patterns of flowering vines painted on the milky-white canvas of his body. The patterns as delicate as the limbs they’re wrapped around, and they’re the only slip of clothing he has on beside the length of intricate, filmy green lace wrapped around his forearms and waist, low enough that Ren can see the copper trail of his pubic hair, the fabric thin enough that he can see the outline of Hux’s slim legs. Among others, just a teasing hint of shadow but enough to get Ren’s blood running hot and sharp.

Distantly Ren takes note that this is the first time he’s ever seen Hux without the stiff uniform. Half-naked, for all the world to see. His thin, _slender_ shoulders stiff with unease, spine ramrod straight like he’s at the bridge of the Finalizer, but it only emphasizes how fragile he looks. His neck is unencumbered with any starched collars, instead looped with a couple of delicate chains with small green stones hanging from the ends.  And he’s scowling at Ren, of course he is. But this is softened by the light gold paint covering his eyelids, bringing out the blue-green of his eyes with startling intensity, emphasizing the slope of his cheeks, the delicate tilt of his chin. His fire-bright hair is mussed and soft, crowned with a wreath of white flowers almost the same shade as his skin. 

“Well?” Hux asks, sardonic and biting and this breaks the spell of Ren’s silence. _At least tell me you didn’t let them make a fool of the Order through me._

Ren’s leaden tongue wants to point out Hux couldn’t put on a more ridiculous outfit if he tried, but the words refuse to come out. But the attendants aren’t smiling subtly to themselves, or snickering in their thoughts. They’re watching Hux with pride, satisfaction at a job well-done, one itching to tuck a few more flowers behind Hux's ears, and not just a little desire, and this is what sends speech snarling out of Ren. 

“ _Out,”_ and the attendants scamper away.

The wooden doors slam shut. Ren and Hux are left alone. Hux stands in the middle of the room. Fragile and lovely and Ren’s chest gives an oddly painful squeeze as Hux growls in frustration, a crimson flush of embarrassment spreading down his chest and cheeks as he starts to untangle the flowers from his hair. 

“Kriffing _hell_ I should never have agreed to this - should’ve just razed this damn place to the ground and saved myself all that damned trouble -” but then he falls still, because Ren’s grabbed his hand. Stopping him from tearing the wreath out, another on his shoulder, feeling the light muscle and shifting bones beneath Hux’s warm, silk skin through the thick clumsy fabric of his gloves. 

Hux freezes, looks up. His eyes are very wide and very blue. He’s close enough that Ren can hear every breath pushing out of him. The rise and fall of his narrow chest. The gold designs trailing from his eyelid to their corners. Tiny jewels like dewdrops caught in his fair lashes, only visible to someone close enough to kiss, and Ren can’t breathe, because Hux. Hux -

 _Beautiful._ Ren thinks, unbidden. Hux’s flush deepens and so does Ren when he realizes he spoke out loud in Hux's mind. Slowly, he releases Hux, feeling slightly relieved and irrationally disappointed when  his gloved hands don’t smear the paint. 

“They -” Ren clears his throat. At a loss, before he starts again. “They’re not making fun of you.” Hux is quiet. Still staring at him, still standing too close. “To them, it’s a great honor. Dressing you, making you look…” he trails off, and Hux laughs. Steps away, and just like that Ren can move again. 

 _I suppose they expect me to thank them for sharing their ridiculous customs. That’ll make it all the more satisfying to stamp them out._ Careful not to say anything out loud,Hux turns, and petals flutter from his wreath. Catching like pearls on Ren’s skin as he reaches out to catch them, gloved hands brushing against Hux’s collarbone. Trailing up the curve of his chin. Watching in fascination as Hux flushes again. Swallows, his throat flexing as Ren trails his fingers down. Marveling at Hux's softness. 

His mouth is painted with a thin layer of gloss. A sap derived from a plant that brought out all the natural color in his lips, making them plush and soft under Ren's gloved thumb. Hux's eyelashes flutter half-shut for a single moment as Ren presses gently down his bottom lip, and it's almost like a kiss, like this. His hand cupped around Hux's delicate face, gentle, and clumsy in comparison to the slender fingers that slowly, almost shyly circle his wrist. 

It's a long moment before Hux pulls away, leaving a smear of gloss on Ren's thumb. The blush on his cheeks doesn't fade entirely, but his voice is brisk and sharp. Back to business again. 

“I’m leaving for the banquet, Ren. You’re welcome to attend, if you wish."  _At this point I’ll be grateful if you take a lightsaber to the Matriarch's throat._  But it doesn't have its usual heat. Hux turns away, straightens out his wreath, and the lace tied around his arms. Pushes open the door. 

“You look beautiful,” Ren says aloud. Blurts out, really, as if he hadn't already said it. But something tells him Hux needs this to be said out loud before he can truly believe it. 

Hux stills. Frozen in mid-step. His hand trembling on the door, but he doesn’t look back as he steps out. His back straight, and all the fragilevulnerability slips away. For a split second before the door closes, Ren doesn’t see a stiff General or a delicate young man unknowing of his own beauty, but an Emperor, hungry for the universe.

Once he’s certain Hux is too far away to pick up on any of his stray thoughts, Ren removes his mask - and the glove of one hand. The petals are soft on his bare fingers. Ren lets himself inhale their scent, then lets them go, fluttering to the ground.  


End file.
